The Waves
by TheBrokenWarrior
Summary: A quiet fisherman with an unbreakable bond to the sea. The mysterious woman he loves, whose desire for power is matched only by her beauty. A flounder with the ability to speak... and so much more. They all are brought together in this story based on 'The Fisherman and His Wife' by Brothers Grimm.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter I**

The events I am about to put forth in writing are no more expected to be believed by the readers as they would have been by the person I was before they took place. A lunatic I may seem to most people now, but if that is what I am, I wish to make it known that I was not always such. An intelligent man of high society, well known in many circles, and liked by most - that is how I was known. In less than a year, I fell from the regard of every civilized man, so much so that my name is only whispered in the darkest streets, when the moon is covered by clouds and no ear can hear it.

Surely, it was no small series of incidents that brought a young nobleman of reputable nature and honorable blood, handsome and quick-witted, to an ill-furnished chamber of the Asylum for the Mentally Unwell, where I sit at a grease-spattered desk, running thin fingers through my graying hair. Let skeptics propound their own theories, and disbelievers turn their noses to the air. I am not concerned with them; my story is for those who are ready to hear a tale that would seem incredible, yet is supported by the evidence of horrors past through, the proofs carved in the wrinkles of my face. My name is Edward Darion. This is the story of the fisherman's wife.

...

A network of wrinkles covered the fisherman's face, and his hair was graying, but he could not have been very old. His body was strong, and the muscles of his bare chest and arms rippled as he rowed us further out into the bay. When he smiled, he showed two sets of neat, pearly teeth, and his eyes shone with a vitality that brightened his whole face. His entire manner was as of one who was happy to be alive, but did not fear death overly much, or at least did not think of it very often.

He had held a smile in his eyes as I had walked up and introduced myself. The corners of his mouth had pulled up halfway and his eyes crinkled kindly as he agreed to take me out in his boat, and he continued to give me this half-smile every time he looked at me. But it was not until I noticed "_Ilsabil_" carved in the wood, and asked who the boat was named after that I saw his face light up with what must have been the most beautiful expression the gods had given to any man. I sat there, the fishing gear I had been fiddling with forgotten, and blinked at him as one who turns his face to the sun.

"Why, I named this 'ere boat after the most amazing woman yer eyes ever did see," he answered, "a woman as beautiful and unpredictable as the sea. If any name be powerful enough to protect against the fury of the waters, it be the name of her whose spirit matches the waves."

I half expected and angry Poseidon to appear, and wreak havoc upon the mortal who dared to compare a mere woman to his realm, or some sort of an avenging nymph or wrathful sea dragon. The only response of the ocean, however, was to send a bigger wave than normal, which splashed against the boat and sent salty sea spray into my face.

Assured by the man's calm demeanor, I ventured another question. "Who, if I may ask, is this lady of whom you speak so highly?" Something about being out on the ocean, with no signs of civilization or the effects of society within near sight, caused me to relax the restraint with which I would usually speak. Confronted with the wildness and desolation of the empty waters around me, my habitual skepticism shrank almost to nonexistence, and my neglected imagination awoke from its long slumber.

Images filled my head of such a woman as the fisherman would admire. I pictured a refined, queen-like countenance, with deep ocean-blue eyes, and long black hair that seemed alive in the wind. She progressed quickly from a primitive idea in my head of the fisherman's lover, passionate towards him but cold towards others, to a lady of high status, one who would not deign to cast eyes upon the despairing yet gentle gaze of the man she passed by. But my eager fantasies went farther than that. Soon she became a spirit of the ocean, the waves themselves made flesh – the incarnation of a storm. In a matter of seconds, she had risen from the status of mortal to goddess.

I was distracted from my thoughts by the sudden change of the fisherman's expression. Just as his face had resembled a sudden sunrise before, now it quickly lost all light, in the thunderclouds that passed over it. He turned his dark eyes towards me, and they seemed filled with pain.

"She's my wife." He said simply. It was as though he said, "Just my wife, nothing more."

It only took those three words to send the golden pedestal crashing to the ground. The goddess fell into the mud, her bare feet and clothes – no longer flowing gowns, but a coarse dress and apron – stained and dirty. Her face took on the wrinkles and worn look that must be the appearance of any fisherman's wife.

I suddenly felt that any other thing she could have been would be better. The sadness and regret in the man's voice was so potent, I was sure he felt the same way. Yet how could he feel regret now, when just a moment ago he was singing her praises? His face shining with love, adoration, and reverence?

He turned his eyes away from mine and gazed out to sea. The choppy waves rocked the boat, and the water sprayed in both of our faces. Thick, gray clouds hung heavy on the horizon. I was stricken by a strange feeling of oppression, and my heart seemed weighty enough to drag me down through the deep waters. I wondered what could have happened to cause the sorrow in the fisherman's eyes. Was he mourning for loss of beauty? For discovery of some harsh truth? What had he lost that he longed for now?

A strange, calm sort of panic hit me. I felt perfectly aware and in control of everything I did or said, and yet I had the odd sense that my life depended on my actions. Leaning forward, I focused my eyes intently on the fisherman's face. My voice trembled with restrained energy. He silently turned his eyes back to mine, and listened.

The rest of the world was miles away as I formed words that hardly had meaning or reason behind them, but that I felt must be said.

"Who _was_ she?"

Strangely, the fisherman relaxed and leaned back in his boat, fixing his half-smile upon me. His eyes held a kind of gentle pride that lighted his face once again.

"She was the pope." He said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

I felt no danger being in the near proximity of a madman. A slight disappointment, perhaps, made itself known within me, but nothing else. Of course I did not believe him. I did not think that he was purposely lying, though. I was well acquainted with sailors' habits of telling tall tales, and I wouldn't have expected any difference for any of the men making their living on the sea. But the sincerity in the fisherman's eyes was too real. He believed what he was saying.

Looking back now, I could wish that I had thrown myself out of the boat then and there, swum back to shore, and departed as soon as possible. It would have been better, I think sometimes, even to drown myself in the sea rather than continue my adventures with the fisherman. But what can I say? I was young, and considered myself courageous. I did not even entertain the idea of danger. Instead, I was interested in finding out more.

Despite my curiosity, I spoke no more for the rest of the day, other than to discuss the necessary things having to do with our fishing. It was just past sunset when we headed back to shore, and the colors of the remaining clouds seemed to bleed into the sea. A darkness came from the horizon, and followed closely behind us as the fisherman moved us with strong, swift strokes. The lights of the docks shone a warm yellow.

"Do you always come home at sunset?" I asked, looking wistfully at the stars just beginning to show, "It would seem to me a pleasant thing to stay out on the ocean in the moonlight. It must be so peaceful out there right now."

"Oh, I never go out after dark," the fisherman said, shaking his head, "not anymore. Dangerous things happen at sea in the night."

After we pulled the boat ashore, I said, "I had better leave," though I was not intending to leave if I could help it. "I need to find a place at the inn to stay for the night. I hadn't planned on staying out here so long, and the rooms will be filling up."

"It is a long walk to the inn, and the night is cold." The fisherman said. "My house is nearby, and if you don't mind humble lodgings, I would be happy to take you in for tonight."

Though I had hoped he would say as much, I was still surprised by the simple dignity with which he offered this courtesy to a stranger, and I hastened to accept. I knew that in the high society from whence I came, few people would dream of letting someone whom they had only known for a day into their houses. I thanked him sincerely.

"It's no problem," he replied. "I've taken somewhat of a liking to you."

"I am honored. You are a good man."

He frowned. "Don't be so hasty to say so. Evil comes in many disguises."

"All the same," I persisted, "I hope to know you better; I think I will like you very much."

"Time will tell," he said, but he smiled.

As we were talking, we entered a path leading into some woods. It went on for a very short while, until it reached a clearing. A dilapidated house, a garden, and a well lay before us. I caught a momentary glimpse of a face at the window, and the soft scuffle of feet sounded within. Not a second later the door was swung open, and a figure stood in the doorway. It held a lantern above its head, and the clear beams stretched out towards us on the pathway.

"Father!" the clear voice of a young woman was heard, and the fisherman embraced the person who ran down the path towards him. She was a head shorter than him, with long black hair and green eyes. Her figure was girlish, but her face seemed to hold a wisdom belonging to much greater years. Her intelligent eyes looked towards me questioningly. This couldn't be his wife.

"This is my daughter," the fisherman said, smiling gently at her. "Meryl, this is Edward Darion."

"Hello," Meryl said, meeting my eyes calmly, and extending a brown hand to shake mine. I found her solemn face surrounded by messy locks an oddly funny sight, compared to the powdered ladies I was daily accompanied by, and to my own fiance, an elegant young woman of high birth. She held herself with such dignity, though, that I could not laugh, and I was still eager to enter the cottage and meet its other inhabitant.

"Is supper ready?" my host asked, and received a reply in the affirmative. "Come on inside, Darion. Meryl, run on ahead and set a new place for our guest. Tell your mother to prepare the guest room."

I wondered how such a small house could have a place set aside for guests, but common courtesy restrained me from asking. I followed the fisherman through the door, into a small room with a table and chairs. Bowls and spoons were set out beside a steaming bowl of some kind of soup. Two doors led out of the room, one into the smoky kitchen, and the other presumably into a bedroom.

I was led into the kitchen, where a pitcher of water was available for my host and I to wash with. Meryl passed us by on her way to the table, carrying extra tableware. Through a doorway attached to the kitchen I caught a glimpse of someone moving about, but I could not distinguish any recognizable features. My host allowed me to wash first, and then he cleaned himself up as best he could with the rest of the water. We finished, and he handed me a towel to dry my hands.

"Ilsabil," he said the name at last, and I felt that I had waited years to hear it, "Ilsabil, meet our guest for tonight, Darion." I noticed that he called me by my last name, without any title before it. Then I looked up and met eyes with his wife.

All in all, she wasn't very impressive. She was certainly tall, and her hair raven black with no signs of greying, but her skin was wrinkled and yellowish, and her back stooped. Her pursed lips gave a sour expression to her face. But her eyes - they were beautiful. Fringed with long lashes, they were a deep fathomless blue, and I was almost startled to see the fierce light within them.

"Delighted," she said, and went into the dining room instantly. Whatever welcome I may have felt on the side of the fisherman, or indifference on the part of his daughter, were forgotten in that instant in the cold hostility of his wife. But what might have seemed petty annoyance or senseless malice coming from any shriveled hag on the street, cut deeply coming from her scornful eyes. I felt ashamed, for reasons I couldn't comprehend, as though in some way I had personally affronted her. Perhaps she sensed that I had come to discover the secret she had tried so hard to hide. I certainly didn't know that I was destined to uncover it, and I was mildly confused.

Before sitting down to eat, the fisherman said grace. All bowed their heads and folded their hands - all, except for Ilsabil. She stood proudly aside, waiting for us to finish, and then took her seat with the rest of us. The soup was delicious, though I had no idea what was in it. Except for a few pieces of celery, I could not tell very well what any of the ingredients were. At one point I fancied I saw a fish's eye, but I hoped it was not the case. I had a weak stomach.

That evening, I lay on the cot my hosts had provided for me, in a room that was barely twice the size of my bed. A crudely cut window was to my left, providing me with a soft breeze of fresh sea air. The homespun cloth hung up in the doorway, which served as a privacy screen, waved gently in the warm draft. I watched its mesmerizing movements for many minutes. I could not sleep.

Eventually, I decided to get up and fetch a drink. Moving cautiously so as not to wake the others, I went into the kitchen. The water inside the house was warm, so I quietly stepped outside to the well. The handle was rusty and creaked softly, but the rope was strong and carried the bucket up without any problems. I splashed some water on my hot face, and felt refreshed. Now that I was out of bed and in the night air, I didn't want to return. A short walk would help tire me out, I thought, and then I would go back inside.

Wandering beneath the wide-spaced trees, I gazed at the clear shadows cast by the half-moon. There were a few wispy clouds in the sky, but they did little to obstruct the starlight, and I could see clearly in front of me. The slender trees moved with the wind, and the leaves waving against each other made a quiet whispering sound. I followed the path until I was once more on the sandy beach.

The darkness that had seemed to pursue the boat as I had been rowed to shore earlier in the evening had now encompassed everything. Moonlight gave a slightly underwater look to the land, and I could imagine it was some city of merpeople. Drawn to the water's edge, I felt the waves rushing over my bare feet as they were pulled back to sea. A sand castle, built by some peasant child, lay in ruins a few feet away.

It was a few minutes before I began to notice the lights. Soft, blue, and wavering, they danced beneath the waves. What could they be? I wondered. Walking forward to get a better look, I was struck by the clearness of the water. It seemed I could see the sea bottom for miles ahead. Sea creatures scuttled across the sand, or swam above, their shiny sides reflecting the blue light. A big fish or two, of some species that I was not knowledgeable enough to name, moved with slow yet graceful movements. Large rocks formed odd sculptures, riddled with caves and covered in algae. It was then that I saw her.

Ilsabil sat, no more than a few feet away, in her husband's boat. I had no time to wonder what she was doing before I realized that she was moving towards me with swift, angry strokes. I instinctually backed away.

"What are you doing?" she demanded of me, but didn't wait for an answer. "Fool! Don't look towards the lights - get back on shore."

As strange as the many things I had just witnessed were, I only realized the oddity of it all, when I found I had to look up to see her face towering above me. Looking about in confusion, I found I was standing neck-deep in the water. A large wave came at the moment, and almost caused me to lose my balance. I felt the undertow pulling at my legs, and I panicked. Something about the whole situation felt so wrong, and a strong fear seized me. I rushed to get back on dry land.

Ilsabil pulled the boat up, and put away the oars. Perhaps it was my imagination running away with me, but she seemed so … different in the moonlight. Her skin was pale, smooth, and she stood straight and tall, unlike the hunched person she had been in the fisherman's hut. She was much angrier, too.

"Why ignorant foreigners such as you find the need to intrude upon the lives of folks like us, I have no idea," she said, scowling, "but at least you could try to do it without risking your own. The sea is dangerous at night. Didn't my husband tell you that?"

Not wanting to offend her any more, I humbly apologized, and meekly went back to the house. It was only later, as I drifted off to sleep, that I wondered what she had been doing out there herself. I slept long and soundly, and woke only when the sun was high in the sky. Setting the room back to how it had been, I drew the curtain aside and went out. The only one home was Meryl; the fisherman had once more gone out to sea, and Ilsabil had walked to the market. Meryl served me the leftovers from breakfast, and gave me a friendly farewell handshake.

Refreshed from my long sleep, the walk to town was short. I met neither the fisherman nor his wife on the way out, but I had asked Meryl to apologize to them for me, and to give them my grateful farewells. I wished no longer to impose upon my courteous hosts, so I stayed my last night at the inn, and left the following day.

...

Hey guys! Thanks for reading - reviews are appreciated! :)


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